


The French Technique

by chillafterdark



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-30
Updated: 2013-06-30
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:58:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillafterdark/pseuds/chillafterdark





	The French Technique

The weather in Paris is atrocious and as much as Chris tried to care, tried to make it matter for the first couple of days, it turns out it really doesn’t. They have their balcony terrace and they have their view and if it’s foggy or raining it just means that when it gets dark the Eiffel Tower looks positively luminescent. They’re together in Paris again: the weather doesn’t matter.

They’re sitting out there now, the rest of the hotel suite quiet and empty and the late afternoon put aside just for them. Their asses are numb and wet where they’re sitting in rainwater under an umbrella each and watching and listening to the city of Paris below. The splatter of rain on the umbrellas and the drip of it down onto their shoulders and necks when the wind blows is delicious. Chris never thought it would work like this but Will just keeps smiling and saying he was quite sure it would.

All afternoon together, alone, in Paris but secluded and stuck in the rain. It’s ridiculous and when Chris looks over to Will he realizes he’s ridiculous too.

Will takes a long gulp of champagne, emptying the glass and then setting it aside to collect the rainwater. He looks back to Chris and he grins and Chris starts to laugh just like that.

Will’s definitely had a couple of glasses now to Chris’s one and brunch was hours ago and not heavy enough to stop the bubbles from getting into his blood quickly. There’s just a faint wickedness to Will’s smile that gives him away. Dragging his chair closer and bumping Will’s umbrella with his own, Chris gives him with a knowing smile and reaches to brush his knuckles over the flush in Will’s cheeks. He reminds him “Work, tonight.”

Will’s grin doesn’t slip, if anything it grows—they’ve talked about the ache Will lives with from smiling so much before. “ _You_  have work,” Will tells him and it’s really the first time they’ve spoke in a half an hour, Will’s voice a little wobbly from the alcohol now. “ _I_  just have to stand up the back and fanboy all over you and they love me.” He grins victorious when Chris raises an eyebrow and then he confides in a low whisper, “They feel like I’m one of them.”

Chris’s other eyebrow goes up because Will is most certainly  _not_ just one of them. Will gets him, Will sees him a heck of a lot deeper than the fans, Will knows all his layers now, all the bad stuff and the weird stuff, and loves him anyway. Will has always been like that, eager to know all of it, even at the beginning of all this.

“I am one of them,” Will tries again, pushing the fact and staring solemnly into Chris’s eyes. The wind changes direction and Will has to blink raindrops from his eyelashes. “I fanboy you.”

Chris laughs melodically and clicks his tongue and hates himself for blushing. “No more champagne for you,” he tells him.

Will pretends to sulk for a moment before ducking in, umbrellas clashing, and pressing a quick kiss to the corner of Chris’s mouth.

~*~

Ten minutes later Will starts to ramble. Chris narrows his eyes and tries not to interrupt the preface to what will surely be another of Will’s ridiculous notions. Because Chris kind of loves Will’s ridiculous notions. He’s been dating Will for long enough now to have had plenty of ridiculous, mostly one-sided conversations about all sorts of ridiculous things and to properly, completely fall in love with them.

Will rounds out something about the ancient Greeks and their lovemaking techniques and Chris realizes he missed the details because he was staring at the red flush of Will’s lips and the way the humidity was making his hair spike up.

“Honestly, Chris,” Will continues, leaning forward again and bringing their umbrellas back into a haphazard contact. “What I am saying is that when in France, it is imperative that you learn the ways of the French.”

Chris sighs but can’t stop his smile. “What exactly are you talking about?” he teases because he knows the gist of this conversation, he knows vaguely where it’s headed, he just hasn’t quite decoded the level of ridiculousness Will is capable of today.

“It’s all about technique.”

“French technique?” Chris sits back as though to think and the rain spills in tiny droplets across his tracksuit pants. He feigns confusion and a little disinterest and Will delights in it, grinning at him even harder because it’s absolutely more fun this way.

“Yes.”

“You feel like our technique wasn’t up to scratch last time?”

“Oh.” Will seems to think about that. “Well we had technique last time we were in France but I feel like our potential now it a lot higher. For really understanding and achieving… Frenchness. It’s time to try new things.”

“Being French?” Chris deadpans and Will wiggles his chair even closer, accidentally tipping a cascade of water from his umbrella across Chris’s lap.

“The French Technique.” Will says, eyes darting from the wet spots across Chris’s legs and then up at him, his eyes going big and solemn. “Frenching.”

Chris really doesn’t have words so he just shakes his head and sits up straighter; they’re going to do this, apparently, so he may as well commit to it. This close, knees wedged in between each others, nose to nose and asses already wet, Chris quickly decides to pull his umbrella closed and throw it to the side. Will grins at him and shifts to hold the remaining umbrella between them.

“It’s all about how you use your tongue, see?” And Will actually makes a point of sticking his tongue out and wriggling it.

“Ah, right.” Chris does his best to look serious, to play along even though with Will’s mouth right there, they could be kissing already. “You don’t think I use my tongue correctly?” he queries.

Will shakes his head. “Not in the  _French_  way,” and he shrugs, apologetic, apparently, about Chris’s bad frenching technique. “I googled it.” Chris actually wouldn’t put that past him. “Watch.”

_Oh. My. God._

Chris watches caught between horror and arousal as Will tilts his head to the side, opens his mouth far too wide, closes his eyes, and extends his tongue to wiggle it around like a snake caught at one end by an eagle. Or something. A really blunt, pink snake. Chris doesn’t know whether to laugh or haul Will in and kiss him properly.

“Now you.”

“Will…”

“We are in Paris, Chris,” Will stresses, sounding very serious about things. “Look, that’s the Eiffel Tower.” His demeanour cracks for a second and he grins when Chris does look, taking in the hazy outline of the tower, his eyes lighting up just a little. “Take this seriously, please”

“Right.” Chris breathes once through his nose. He’s an actor, he can do ridiculous things. He shakes his head just a little, closes his eyes and repeats the utterly stupid act of kissing, rather badly, thin air. When he opens his eyes, Will’s staring and his lips are tight with not cracking up.

Chris raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Fantastic,” Will tells him. The umbrella tilts and rain flicks over them, cold and sharp against the almost-warm humidity. “Now together.”

_Finally._

Will leans forward and Chris meets him halfway and while Chris thinks they’re done, his lips parted just slightly, Will meets his with a wide mouth and a sloppy tongue wriggling into his mouth and past his teeth and way, way too far, to writhe over his. It takes Chris a second to respond, to sigh in a non-pleasureable way, concentrate on not laughing because somehow, incredibly, Will isn’t yet, and push his tongue back in the same moronic manner against Will’s.

It’s a too-wet, unrefined collision of mouths that must look about as stupid from the outside as it feels on the inside. Chris absolutely judges himself for being just ever so slightly turned on and he puts that entirely down to it being Will and the presence of a warm hand on his knee.

When Will pulls back he’s got spit from the tip of his nose to the bottom of his chin and a broad, shit-eating grin in place. “Très bien!” he says and Chris can’t stop himself from laughing then because Will, deep and with a slight southern drawl, speaking the handful of French he knows is just too much. “Oui, oui, mon chèri!”

“Oh god,” Chris groans, hanging his head.

“Mon amour?” Will tries and that’s honest and bare when Chris looks up at him and goddamnit, even with all of this stupid ridiculousness it’s still true and Chris still wants him, and just wants to kiss him for being so lovely. “Mon amour,” Will says again with a grin.

When Chris starts to fall in for another kiss, Will stops him with a hand to his chest. “Wait, perhaps we should try some more advanced techniques?”

Chris huffs and rolls his eyes and Will doesn’t care.

“Watch,” Will tells him. Chris sits back a little and the rain starts to soak through the back of his sweater. Will closes his eyes again, opens his mouth, still too wide, and waggles his tongue side to side. “And then,” he says without opening his eyes; he swirls his tongue in circles.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” Chris says.

“Show me.”

Again, Chris rolls his eyes but resistance is futile because if he plays along he’s sure they’ll end up kissing properly. So he plays along, closing his eyes and shivering into the cold of the rain and replicating Will’s kissing technique.

Will leans back, into the rain, fanning himself with his hand and looking wildly impressed. Chris blushes in spite of himself. “Coup de foudre,” Will says with excitement and Chris doesn’t know that one but has no time to ask.

“Ready?” he says instead.

“Oui.”

Chris grabs a handful of Will’s sweater and pulls him in. Their lips meet, this time mirroring each other: wide and wet. Chris’s tongue shifts side to side in dramatic sweeps, constantly meeting Will’s in the middle and it’s not sexy at all. They circle each other and Chris actually struggles to swallow down the amassed saliva in his mouth.

He waits for Will to fall back and then he wipes his face clean with the back of his hand.

“Wow,” is all Will says.

“What is wrong with you?” Chris replies and both of them grin. “My turn now?”

“But of course!” Will’s exaggerated French accent is ridiculous, too.

“Kiss me properly in the rain.” Chris doesn’t give him a chance to respond, he pushes the umbrella from his grasp onto the terrace tiles with one hand and slides the other around the back of Will’s head to pull him in.

When their lips meet this time it’s on a gasp as Will gives in happily and heavily to it. Lips parted and tilted to meet gorgeously, a tease and then a caress and then eagerness and the lush slick slide of their mouths together as the rain wets their faces from one side and makes everything outside the kiss smooth and amorphous. Chris licks into Will’s mouth like he’s supposed to, up behind his front teeth because he knows Will loves that. Little touches and licks and slips back to chaste and then coy and then dirty.

Chris gets Will’s tongue between his lips and sucks. He pulls back further and bites at Will’s bottom lip before he draws away leaving Will open-mouthed and wide-eyed. They’re both a bit breathless and they’re both grinning.

“I think our French technique is pretty good,” Chris tells him with a knowing smile.

Will nods slowly, his hands scrubbing over his cheeks and through his soaked hair. “Practice would make it better though.”

Chris laughs, head thrown back as he shakes his head and the rain droplets fly. “Naked would be better,” he corrects and this time Will has nothing ridiculous to say.


End file.
